


Rescue Me (How It Begins)

by DemonAngelSakina



Series: Grand Designs [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alchemy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Human, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Drug Use, alchemist, donor, past consensual drug use, pre-platonic relationship, vampire, vampire cares for donor, vampire meets donor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonAngelSakina/pseuds/DemonAngelSakina
Summary: "As you wish, little one...I will take care of you. We will beat this."And...perhaps...he might return this favor and, one day, save her from the abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.~Or, how my vampire OC and her human donor met.





	Rescue Me (How It Begins)

**Author's Note:**

> In the wake of "Grand Designs" and it's "Interludes"--that I will write more of as they come--I felt it was appropriate, specifically concerning the Act Three Interlude, to provide backstory for Dante and her donor, Cy's, relationship.
> 
> If anything...Dante does genuinely care for her donor, and there is something good left in her...it's just a challenge to find it beneath all of the madness, grief, and self-hatred that consumes her.

A scowl formed on bronze-painted lips as kohl-lined, cat-green eyes focused on the pale, sickly figure thrashing about on the thick nest of blankets that could only, in the loosest of terms, be considered as a bed. The darkly tanned woman knelt and, far gentler than any would think someone like her capable, wiped away at the blond youth's sweaty brow--the washcloth damp from its stay in the basin of cool water next to the nest. 

The heavy gears groaned and turned overhead--the numerous candles casting the large chamber in a soft, pleasant glow; the scent of jasmine incense soft, yet strong enough to mask the scent of sweat and sickness. The boy was panting weakly from the exertion of his tossing and turning about--at least, thanks to how her nest was 'crafted', she did not have to concern herself too much on whether or not the boy would accidentally throw himself off of the bedding and onto the ancient, hardwood floor.

With a soft sigh, she reached over to press two, long-nailed fingers to the youth's neck--his heart was pounding far too hard and fast for her liking as his body tried desperately to deal with the withdrawal. Even now, she was not fully certain what had been injected into his system to cause the addiction that had made this boy hide in an alleyway in hopes of finding someone willing to pay him for a few hours of his time--while she did not object to the job, having relied on many a courtesan in the past for both aid and personal entertainment, the circumstances--the way those wide, blue-gray eyes had all-but screamed for someone to save him...they had called to her. 

Now, a week later, he remained secured within her clock tower as she tended to him during his fight for his own freedom; his wrists--pale and thin from malnutrition--were secured on the nest by deceptively delicate-looking steel cuffs and chains...she could not risk the boy injuring himself, could she? Perhaps the method was extreme by modern views...but, the old ways were the most effective.

Oh...some would see her as heartless based only on how an outsider would see her actions, but she had been there before--back in the days when smoking opium had been the height of 'in fashion'. 

She remembered lounging about in the nest of whichever lair she had been in at the time--or, daringly so, indulging in the sheer opulence of the most high-end opium dens of the era--as she entertained herself with the sweetly floral and richly earthy smoke...relishing in both the absolute silence within her mind and the dulling of her senses. One would think, someone like her would be unaffected by such things but...if the desire and willingness to go as far as it takes for that rush, is there...well, she could only imagine the expressions on the faces of some if they knew. A normal human would have overdosed if they had even dared to push themselves as she had to for the sake of the rush--another mark of the 'superiority' her kin claimed the blood curse to be...or just another reason for her to despise it? Even now she was not sure.

But, as with all things throughout her seemingly cursed existence, her moods and focus had shifted as the years had passed, and she had drifted away from the pleasure...and, in it's loss, found the pain. 

She remembered those long hours shifting into days as she fought the sickness that had tormented her--the pain that had shot and burned through her muscles and bones, the waves of nausea that had come far too close to preventing her from feeding, the heavy weight of her long-held depression almost suffocating her with its renewed intensity...and one could never forget the increased violence that had followed with a heightened paranoia towards the world so cold and cruel. Some had dared to try to claim her as the new 'Ripper' due to the bloodshed that was born of her rages in London...and such a thing was not something that she had even an ounce of pride in--her behavior after the drug had disgusted her...her utter and absolute loss of control.

She prided herself on her control--her ability to do think freely for herself and do what she deemed fit. She had fought long and hard to gain that control--even now, she lived by her strength and will alone...she refused to allow another even a sliver of control over her. But...her own foolishness, with her belief in her absolute control over herself, had come far too close to sending her into ruin.

A soft groan from the parched lips of the boy drew her from her musings; she picked up the open water bottle from the low table, shifting so that she could raise his head up to her with her other hand, and carefully tipped the bottle to the pale lips. 

Really...the blond was rather pitiful in a sense, for being only sixteen. When she had first seen him, she had mistaken him for being younger--perhaps just entering his fourteenth year?--due to how he appeared...pale and slight of build, youthful eyes wide from fear--pupils dilated at the time from the drugs set coursing through his blood. The eyes...those eyes that had brought to mind the image of a puppy that had been kicked around far too many times, only to be dropped into a crowd of strangers who were only set to harm it further...

For the first time in so long, she had felt sympathy for another--she had scented his fear and desperation...heard his silent screams for help...and she had answered.

He had been scared of her at first--the primal fear of a creature like her, was something that even the most potent of drugs could not erase or dull--but, he had willingly grasped onto her...clutching onto the back of her trenchcoat so hard that she had vaguely wondered if his blunt nails would cut into the leather. He acted as if she were an angel sent to save him--she could never see herself in such a positive light...her hands were too stained by blood for her to ever see herself as anything but a devil of the world's creation. 

Yet...this boy...perhaps she was going soft? That was possible--more bizarre occurrences had happened over the centuries, hadn't they?

Bit by bit, through his hallucinations and delirium--his restlessness and uneasy sleep--she had learned the bitterest truth: his father was the victimizer here...a man who had injected the drugs into his own child to make him complacent in being forced to sell his own innocent body for money. The very thought made her alternately sick to her core and burning with white-hot rage--when she had the chance, she would find this man and take the greatest of pleasures in ripping the bastard's beating, black heart from his chest. 

No...that would be too quick. For these crimes, the man should suffer...she would draw it out and savor his agony and torment as she savored the blood that she devoured--oh, that would be fun...and she had at least five centuries worth of knowledge on torture and absolute agony that she could draw upon and put to use.

She looked down at the half-lidded eyes peering up at her through the bangs plastered to the boy's forehead--even behind the withdrawal-induced haze and pain, beyond the fear of the unknown...she saw the innocence and gratitude...she saw hope and trust. This youth...this pale, thin, blond boy...this broken and battered child...he trusted her--he trusted her to help him and protect him...he trusted her, of all beings in this world, to be the one to save him. He did not see the layers of blood blackening her hands, he did not see the stains weighing so heavily on the torn remnants of her soul...he did not see the lineage-born curse that consumed her--all he saw was a person who had reached out and taken him away from his nightmare...all he saw was someone strong who was helping him to take back control of his life.

Control...oh, that was something she knew so well, and the desire to control one's own destiny was something that she could respect and admire on even the most primal level.

With a short nod, she drew her fingers to her lips and bit--sharp canines cutting into the flesh; she brought her hand down and ran her fingertips over the boy's lips--watching with curiosity and interest as the dark crimson fluid slipped past his lips. Soon enough, she felt the proverbial hook slipping into his mind--oh, she would not enslave this youthful creature who dared to trust her so blindly...but a light tug on the gossamer thread every now and then, a whisper to keep his resolve strong and steady...well, that wouldn't hurt, would it? 

She wanted to see just how strong the will to live and fight was in this one who had called to her.

She could only smile before she leaned down and kissed his forehead--her hand delicately caressing the pale cheek in an almost parental gesture that the boy, however weak he was from his ongoing battle, pressed into, eagerly soaking up the perceived affection that he had been starved of for far too long.

"As you wish, little one...I will take care of you. We will beat this."

And...perhaps...he might return this favor and, one day, save her from the abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.


End file.
